


Ama Me Fideliter

by clockworkouroboros



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: But Will Make Fun of Catholicism, Character Study, Fluff, Historical Accuracy, Joe loves Nicky, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Roman Catholicism, in this house we stan martin luther, just an awful lot of love, so much, soft, the author is not catholic, you wouldn't believe the amount of love for nicky joe has
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkouroboros/pseuds/clockworkouroboros
Summary: It's always a bit of a surprise to see what Nicky gets passionate about.(Title translates to "Love Me Faithfully.")
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 24
Kudos: 310





	Ama Me Fideliter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm not Catholic. In fact, I am Lutheran. This gives me permission to make fun of the Catholic church as much as I want. And I will do so, because I think it's fun.  
> (Also, my mockery of catholicism is lighthearted, I promise.)

Learning Nicoló is like learning a new language, Yusuf has decided. He’s already known the man for over two hundred years. He’s loved him for almost as long. And yet this man, this incredible, beautiful man can still shock him.

He knew, technically, that Nicolo had been a priest before going off to kill him in the Siege of Jerusalem. It had come up in conversation, once they had learned each other’s languages. How could it not? They’ve known each other for two hundred years. Nicolo has never met Yusuf’s family, of course, but he knows their names. He’s listened to Yusuf talk about them, held him on their birthdays, when he’s reminded of their too-short lives. And Yusuf has done the same for him. How could he not?

Even now, after two hundred years, Yusuf is breathless at the sight of his love. He’s not quite sure what else to call Nicolo, actually. “Love” sounds odd, but they’re not married, so he isn’t his husband. And really, the only reason “love” sounds strange to Yusuf’s ears is because it doesn’t quite encapsulate everything he feels for the man. Nicolo is beautiful, he is quiet, he is moral. He seems to cherish every moment he has with Yusuf, every moment they are together. When Yusuf gets carried away in passion, Nicolo is his anchor. When Yusuf’s head is in the clouds, Nicolo can bring him back down to earth. When Yusuf cries in the night, Nicolo is there to comfort him, to hold him, to kiss him softly until Yusuf falls back asleep, clutching the other man close to his chest, like a girl might clutch her doll. Only Nicolo is so much more than that, so much more special, and when Yusuf calls Nicolo  _ my heart, _ he means it in ways he doesn’t even fully understand. He means it so much that when he says it, he aches, because he feels like even that can’t stress how much he loves this man. Nicolo hasn’t stolen Yusuf’s heart so much as he has  _ become _ his heart, the embodiment of everything Yusuf loves.

It’s a strange feeling, then, when Nicolo does something unexpected. Like Yusuf doesn’t quite understand his own heart.

These things usually aren’t bad, only strange. Things Yusuf doesn’t know or care about, that cause Nicolo to become very incensed, very quickly. Despite no longer being a priest (and Yusuf has doubts that Nicolo is even Christian anymore), he’s very interested in everything that happens in the church.  _ I have the chance to see new religions form, Yusuf, _ he says, large eyes wide, blue-green, like the sea along the coast of Malta.  _ I can see what happens to us. _ And when he says  _ us, _ Yusuf knows he isn’t talking about the two of them, but the old  _ us, _ the Christians, the Europeans, that old conditioning of Christianity versus the rest of the world breaking through, even after all these years.

It’s almost funny, though, that Nicolo cares about these things, because when people care, they have opinions, and sometimes, things happen that they don’t like.

So when Nicolo bursts into the room one day, eyes wild, with the news that the Pope has been captured and moved to Avignon, Yusuf is only mildly surprised, surprised enough to ask what was so important about that.

This is, apparently, not quite the correct response to this news. Nicolo wants to go to Avignon and rescue the man. “We can do it together, Yusuf,” he says, his voice so earnest that Yusuf feels like he’ll melt. He sits himself down onto Yusuf’s lap, arms already wrapping around the back of his neck.

“Ah, yes,” Yusuf replies. He’s not intending to sound sarcastic, but it comes out that way. “Two men who are very much in love, neither one being a practicing Christian, rescuing the Pope from his palace at Avignon. A good idea.” He pauses, winding his arms around Nicolo’s waist. “You just don’t like it because all the popes will be French now, right?”

Nicolo has the grace to blush, and it’s so endearing that Yusuf can’t help but pull the other man’s head down to kiss him senseless.

Sometimes, Nicolo’s attitudes towards the church confuse Yusuf. He can usually figure out why he’s upset or excited or vindicated, but not always. When Nicolo excitedly shows him a piece of paper, he can’t quite figure out what’s so exciting about it. It clearly wasn’t written by someone who knew Italian all that well, leading him to believe that it was translated from another language.

He tries to ask his Nicky, but he’s too riled up. “This is good, Yusuf!” he keeps exclaiming, jabbing at the paper, a smile lighting up his face. “Look at it! This is important!”

“Is this one of your Catholic things again?” Yusuf asks teasingly, peering at the paper.

_ When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent'', he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance. _

The entire sheet is filled with theology talk, still poorly translated into Italian.

Nicolo paces back and forth around the room, hands waving animatedly as he tries to describe why this is so good, why this is so important. “Pope Leo is not a  _ proper _ Pope,” Nicolo tries to explain. “He is a  _ Medici _ first and foremost. He does not care about the church, only money and power.”

“Ah, like every pope, then,” Yusuf interjects.

“The man who wrote this, he is challenging the Pope. This is good, this is important!”

When he tells Andy about it, she just gives a long-suffering smile and rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen more religions rise and fall than the years you’ve been alive,” she says. “This might be remembered in history and it might not, but either way, it’s just church politics. This guy, this German monk, he doesn’t like the power Leo has, so he’s going to try and take it away. And who’s gonna get the power then?” She leans back and closes her eyes. “It’ll be the German guy, I’d bet money on it.”

“You’re on,” Nicolo says, and Andromache grins, the smile of someone who’s confident in her victory.

(Within ten years, Andy’s cashing in on that bet. Nicolo’s always been extraordinarily bad at gambling.)

And of course, when the German monk gets married, Nicolo is appalled, because this man was a  _ monk _ and he’s marrying a  _ nun _ and if he had known this would happen as a result of challenging the church, he never would have supported the monk’s efforts in the first place.

When Yusuf replies that maybe, this will change things in the Catholic church. Maybe in the future, priests will be able to get married, too. He stands on his tiptoes to kiss Nicolo’s neck as he says it, soft. Gentle.

“I am not a priest anymore,” Nicolo replies defiantly, moving just enough that he can kiss the top of Yusuf’s head. “I can do as I please.”

“And do  _ who _ you please?” Andromache asks him, and Quynh laughs.

Nicolo has the grace to blush, and it’s so endearing that Yusuf can’t help but pull at his shirt, bringing his lips low enough to kiss.

A few hundred years pass without incident, which rather surprises Yusuf. He starts going by Joseph, and then by Joe, and he calls Nicolo “Nicky” as a nickname more and more often, so much that it’s more comforting than their real names, the names they were born with all those centuries ago. He wonders if that’s what happened to Andy. When did she start going by Andromache? Was she already hundreds of years old? Thousands, even?

Nicky seems to have given up on getting excited or enraged by events in the church. Joe wonders if he’s maybe feeling old, or if there are just too many different branches of Christianity now for him to care. Even when Sebastien joins their team, a true product of the French enlightenment, Nicky doesn’t seem to mind too much. If anything, he seems to have settled into the role of peacekeeper among Andromache, Sebastien, and Joe. If anyone has a problem, they take it to Nicky rather than Andromache. She’ll just give a dry, sarcastic retort. Nicky listens. He  _ wants _ to listen.

When Joe asks him about it, he gives a tiny, embarrassed smile. “It is so easy to forget who we are,” he says, speaking slowly and in English. He’s trying to learn it. “Who we were,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “We need each other, Yusuf. Not just you and me–” He breaks off, and when he resumes speaking, it’s in Italian again. “I am saying this poorly. I need you, Joe. We need each other. But the others — Andromache and Booker — they need us, too. We all need each other. We may have long lives, we might never die, but we are still human. And it is too easy to forget that.” He lowers his gaze, then, looks down at the floor. “I worry sometimes that we have all forgotten that.”

What can Joe say to something like that? Nicky is quiet, introspective. He rarely delivers speeches, something Joe teases him about even now. (“You were a priest, weren’t you? Didn’t you have to give a speech every week?”) It’s easy to forget how much Nicky pays attention, to everyone and everything. Andromache once mentioned, offhand, that she would kill for a good baklava, and a few weeks later, Nicky showed up at the safehouse with some, just for her. Booker came back to their Parisian safehouse once in tears after trying to visit his living family members and Nicky sat with him for hours, comforting him. Joe is good at teasing, at cheering up, at being dependable, but Nicky has a gift. He remembers the little things, he listens, he gives to the group simply by existing.  _ It’s the right thing, _ Nicky would say. He has said it, so many times that Joe can hear it in his dreams sometimes.

Joe didn’t used to think perfection was real. He’s always thought of it as an unattainable goal. Nicky, of course, would say something similar; a leftover byproduct of his religious days, maybe, or maybe the cynicism of a life that’s been stretched out over centuries. But when Joe looks at Nicky, sees the man he’s chosen to spend his life with, he can’t help but think that maybe, in his kindness and his quiet, fierce passion, perfection doesn’t need to be attained. It’s unimportant. Maybe all he needs is Nicky.

He says something along those lines to Nicky, soft, murmured.

Nicky has the grace to blush, and he looks so endearing that Joe can’t help but stand on his tiptoes as tall as he can and bring their lips together in a kiss.


End file.
